Dances
White Winter Hymnal by Fleet Foxes has taken over my life. At random moments of the day I can hear their five part harmony echoing through the noise of all my other thoughts. The last lyrical image of the song is bittersweet and accompanied by music so beautiful and joyous that I just want to float on my very tiptoes while I dance to "And, Michael, you would fall and turn the white snow red as strawberries in the summertime."
Last night I was driving Claire and Jessica home from Vanessa's family's beach rental by Wind an Sea and I realized the happiest dance motions I can think of that would perfectly accompany my favorite part of the tune is in Silence of the Lambs when Buffalo Bill is taping himself and he tucks and he swirls around his bathrobe. I don't know what else to say about the dichotomy of images here, except that Claire told me today that my confession in the car of such gave her a nightmare.
Last night I dreamt of a cabin with a shaggy, wild-flowered field by the edge of a forest. A big-ass black bear came through the field, so I shot it. When it got closer, I saw it had morphed into a badly wounded black horse so I decided to humanely put it down by firing again. I headed toward the woods when the job was done, and I had just reached the tree-line when a pack of white horses caught my attention. I whistled, one came over, the rest stopped and waited. I was a little worried about my balance riding bareback, only holding onto the mane, but I talked myself out of my fear quickly. One white horse had gotten injured somehow, so it shrank and turned into pegasus. I carried the injured horse on my lap as they carried me off into the woods.
There wasn't any snow in my dream, but the hole in the black horse's chest was fiercely red. As red as the horses that carried me away were white. I was following the pack....
Last night I was driving Claire and Jessica home from Vanessa's family's beach rental by Wind an Sea and I realized the happiest dance motions I can think of that would perfectly accompany my favorite part of the tune is in Silence of the Lambs when Buffalo Bill is taping himself and he tucks and he swirls around his bathrobe. I don't know what else to say about the dichotomy of images here, except that Claire told me today that my confession in the car of such gave her a nightmare.
Last night I dreamt of a cabin with a shaggy, wild-flowered field by the edge of a forest. A big-ass black bear came through the field, so I shot it. When it got closer, I saw it had morphed into a badly wounded black horse so I decided to humanely put it down by firing again. I headed toward the woods when the job was done, and I had just reached the tree-line when a pack of white horses caught my attention. I whistled, one came over, the rest stopped and waited. I was a little worried about my balance riding bareback, only holding onto the mane, but I talked myself out of my fear quickly. One white horse had gotten injured somehow, so it shrank and turned into pegasus. I carried the injured horse on my lap as they carried me off into the woods.
There wasn't any snow in my dream, but the hole in the black horse's chest was fiercely red. As red as the horses that carried me away were white. I was following the pack....